In the nick of time

I had a month-long streak of general happiness, only to be shot to shit by my stupid ex-boyfriend and a sudden cropping up of loneliness and fights with practically everyone I know. I don't know why everything can't just go right for once.

I can't make you love me.

This has been a high-stress, high anxiety week, as I wish more and more that I were home and seeing my friends thrive at their schools while I am clearly drowning, isolating myself with schoolwork and that natural Massachusetts way of ignoring everyone on the street or to give them all dirty looks. I don't mean to, I try to be friendly, I try to make conversation, I try and try and try and all these things and expectations are built up and I crumble underneath. I cannot handle the stress, I cannot handle where I am in my life right now.

I've been reflecting a lot on my ex-boyfriend this week, thinking about what happened and what I did wrong. But I realized, just as I had blamed him for not being mature enough to handle our relationship, neither was I. I couldn't take his word when he said he loved me, it wasn't enough for me. I wanted big, fancy, grand expressions of adoration, something that he was not capable of and I knew it and I shouldn't have expected it of him. Its been almost a year since our split, and I still miss him a lot. But I need to let go of his memory, I need to stop nurturing and protecting it. I am so young, and I have a lot more broken hearts to collect.

Louis

Today we threw a party for Mark's graduation/going off to college, and it was so great. Great family and friends, great food, great laughs. The two wine coolers I had loosened me up just enough to be able to relax and laugh, without feeling anxious. It was a very loving, happy day in all.

I asked Dr. G today if I should send Ryan a letter, letting him know I'm doing okay and that I hope he is doing okay as well. He said that Ryan is still too angry and bitter to accept any kind of graciousness or kindness from me, and will resent me even more for it. I just want this to be over, I just want to move on with my life free of these hostility ropes that are tying me to him. I just want to send the olive branch, and be done with it forever.

Also, I decided to move forward with Derek. He's technically single, and I need to stop worrying about everyone else's opinions and feelings and start thinking about my own. This is my life and I'll make my own mistakes.

Style

I explained to my therapist today about how I tend to view people and categorize them, and how I apply this to myself. It's difficult to explain, but after my messy breakup and months of my ex slandering me to anyone who would listen, I became quite controlling of how I want to be viewed by other people, and how I want to view myself. I want to be seen as grown up, sophisticated, feminine, and happy, but more importantly, I want to feel and believe in those things. And I believe it's a fake-it-until-you-make-it kind of circumstance, because while I don't believe I possess any of those qualities, I want to make others think I do, and I want to at least pretend that I do.

My trip to New York a few weeks ago made me aware of this fact, when I saw it reflected in my older step-sister and my step-brother's girlfriend. They have their own ways of faking it, and so will I. It's an important step for me to take control of my life, to be sure of myself and who I am before I set foot back on campus and subject myself to the problems I had last year.

Happy medium

Spending most of my time at home and with my cats has had its beneficial effects, such as jolts of creativity and lots of time to spend by myself, and being holed back up in this room has helped me climb back into the soft, comfortable, broken-in personality that I was all throughout high school. I listen to music too loudly, dance around my room, doodle in my planner and create page after page in my art journal, look at things from a different point of view, speak french to my cats, and never depend on a boy to make me happy. If I can hold onto this until school starts again, I may just survive, or I may just have to start over somewhere new.

Frustrations and Vibrations

I am so far in the single mentality that I am pushing away all the wonderful attention my boyfriend gives me, simply because he isn't Ryan or Sebastian. He won't make me love him like they did; he is never going to make me feel the way they made me feel.

This is the time in my life when I am figuring things out, testing the waters, and finding my way. One day, I will finally get it right.

Sources

We cuddled on the floor, kissing and giggling and holding hands. But I didn't feel anything, as nice as it was, you didn't make my heart flutter or make me feel relaxed and comfortable. I was thinking ahead to going home, to cuddling with my cat and being alone again. I don't know what this means, what you expect from me. Because I am a mess, it's hard to live with myself, and I have so many other things and people to deal with.

Your hands crept up my legs as I whined about the last boy to hurt me, who I have to see and pass by in the street. Who talks about me to his roommate while they oh-so-subtly stare in my direction. You listened, you told me what I needed to hear, and in return you felt what you wanted. That's how it always was, how it always will be.

Pessimists

I'm sorry for trying to destroy you. You don't deserve it. More than anything, you are my ragdoll that I beat up on, and you silently absorb all of it, take the abuse and the hurt. You have no idea that you are being hurt right now, but you will. I can't do this with you. I can't breathe anymore, I felt so much freer when you weren't laying on my guilty conscience. So, I'm sorry. You don't deserve any of the hurt I'm about to give you. But you just don't feel like you're mine.

Jess texted me and asked me to update her on my life. As if I am going to tell her anything. I'm sure that Kaylie has told her about me and my uncontrollable mouth, my inability to think before I speak and to form correct sentences that actually convey what I want to say. Those are mistakes, regrets, things that I would take back if I could. So are the things I told Jess, which she told to Allison, which she told to him. Feeding the fire and feuling a completely unneccessary blow up. And to be honest, I wish her the best in life, but I lost my friend when that fight errupted. I can't trust her anymore, I see now that she's not on my side any longer.

nobody said it was easy.

I am waiting as patiently as I can for the coming of the next chapter in my life, featuring a new boy who tells me sweet things and seems at least slightly more stable than you. I am reminded again and again of you, of everything we did, of the things you said to me, the way we felt when we were alone. The few pieces of happy memories that I was able to salvage in the fire of our breakup, they will stay with me forever. But our life together has burned down, I need to build a new one, with someone else this time. I think I found that someone else, for now.

So, although you continue to haunt my life, this is me, picking up the pieces and carrying on. Because you can't hurt me anymore. Because I found someone new to tell me I'm pretty and to hold my hand when I'm crying. I found someone new to care about me.

And so now I turn to you, fairweather friend, who went behind my back and said things I had told you in confidence, brought them straight to the enemy. Text me and facebook poke me and like my statuses and reblog my tumblr posts all you want, but that isn't going to undo any of the trauma you led me straight into, that isn't going to take any of the words back that you told him. You don't deserve a place in my life if that is how you believe you should treat me. I have always been there for you, through absolutely everything. Yes, my fight has been long and tiresome and difficult, but you clearly can't sympathize with me or be there for me if this is how you want to play. Game fucking on.

I would like to believe you still care, that you're still there somewhere in the shadows. I would like to believe that you've always been there. But I think, at the bottom of my heart, I know that you're gone, that the monsters hiding in the dark are of my own design, that you aren't waiting for me in there. I would like to be perfect, tried to be perfect for you, but if that wasn't enough to keep you, then I have to accept it isn't enough to keep you waiting.

I always get this knot of anxiety before I go home; I am safer here, your presence is not so overwhelming here. Our spheres still overlap, our friends still remain the same, still share jokes and laughter with both of us. My friends here are entirely my own, you hold no influence on them. I am trying to come to terms with what I hope is the last of my big revelations about our relationship, and I hope it all passes quickly, that I may be able to completely let go, to completely move on.

Le passé

Driving around nearby neighborhoods, we used to point out houses to each other, we used to say, Can we live in that house? That is the house I want to raise our children in. We would laugh about our parenting techniques, how we would raise our kids, what we would name them, what sports we would put them in and what instruments they would play. We used to joke that after the third child, I would become an alcoholic, and the kids would depend on him, but he would vehemently deny that sort of responsibility, that he would leave me if I ever did that. Our naivety, our pure, idealized love was perfect then. We were, quite literally, just kids in love, even then, even in the summer, before either of us (or at least I) could realize what love was, the full potential of what we had.

I never imagined, back then, driving around house hunting with my boyfriend, that I would lose all of it just a few months later. I regret it with all my heart that I didn't appreciate the love we had while we were so deeply involved in it.

I won't cry anymore.

I remember the look on your face, the moment I saw you truly loved me- when I asked What? and you just shrugged your shoulder that wasn't pinned to the bed, because we were laying on our sides on my tiny dorm bed, and then your face broke into a grin and you leaned over and kissed my cheek. My heart aches for that moment back, for every moment. Because I loved you so much, and I still do, for some reason. I still love you, but I am still wrapped around other boys, I still crave their attention and affection and adoration. Because one heartbreak is not enough- I need more, my heart is greedy, it takes everything it can get. I miss my boyfriend. I miss feeling loved. I miss being in love. And that is the worst part. I am afraid to be alone.

what I've given up.

My morals have completely shattered; I have turned into this empty, hollow, shell of an actual human being who has no regard for other's feelings and takes, takes, takes. I don't know what I have gotten myself into, but I depend on it to get me through the next two weeks, until I am back at the nest, back in my mother's arms and with my best friends and people who actually care about my existence and don't just want to get in my pants.

I allow all of this to happen. I could have been firm, I could have said no, but I have no objection to pain and heartbreak anymore and crave the attention and affection of any male that comes across my path. I am destroying relationships across the globe, and I show no remorse. This is the life I have come to, these are the choices I have made. My path has been determined. I am useless, I am a cynical, murderous bitch. You are no longer here to keep me anchored, and my calm, serene sunshine has turned into a dangerous hurricane. I pray that this hurricane reaches you, that the evidence and gossip makes you stop and feel the slightest amount of sadness for the pain you've caused me. You have created a monster.

Something in me has snapped. For now, at least, I am no longer yearning to be back in your arms. Rather, I would like to lash out at you for everything you've done to me, everything you've put me through. It takes almost all my strength to remain composed and amiable while I talk to you. I promise you empty words, Of course I'd still like to be friends, but in reality I do not want anything to do with you from here on. You can't have everything you want, and up until now I have been providing and enabling all of that for you. But at the bottom of everything, you broke my heart, and that isn't something you "cool off" from.

tient à coeur

Anxiety swells up in a knot right in my stomach every time I think about coming home, being near you again. And I know you won't reach out to me, you don't care, you won't give me the time of day and you won't try to make this right. You will always make me come to you, you will give me all the time I need or want, you will never be the first to open up. I am terrified to the point of paralysis of seeing out in the street, maybe pumping gas or pulling out of McDonald's with your cousin. And I know this is one of the few chances I'll have, the slim time frame in between when you deem morally acceptable to dump your girlfriend and then move onto the next one.

Tomorrow night I will enter the heart of a warzone, fifteen minutes away from the enemy. Shaking to the core, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, eyes peeled for any sign of you. Every Nissan is a target, every stickered bumper is a red flag. Having to carry around this heavy, broken heart is tiresome, and the only person who can fix it is you. And somehow, I'm afraid that it will lead me straight to you.

I ended up tricking myself into believing I could do any of this without you; into believing that I could move on. I'm completely lost, I have absolutely no idea of anything I want anymore. I need other people to remind me to eat, to give me my pill, to take me to class, to move me out of the way of people and pavement and moving cars.

Going home makes me afraid, but nevertheless, I have to do it. I have to go and retreat into my house with my family and my cat and the love that I had before you. To remind myself that it's still there, it will always be there.

The Way You Make Me Feel

I sit at my computer and sob and listen to horrifyingly sad music that reminds me of you and I can't even face the blank document where I imagine a letter to you should be. But you don't care, you walked out, you're gone.

One day, I knew all these words would come back to haunt me.

the highest skies

Even when you do respond to me and even when you decide to call, I still feel alone. As if you had somewhere better to be, things to do other than answer your nagging girlfriend's calls. And I can picture you, reading my texts, laughing along with your friends as you drive around the silent streets of Suburbia, smoking cigarettes and screaming words to songs you all know. Things we all used to do together, you now do with other people. You've moved on from me, and I am drowning in your absence. I sit around and wait for you, hoping to get a text or a phone call. But days pass; nothing.

So this is what loving someone is like.

It feels like you're gone. As if you've quietly excused yourself from my life, you slipped out the door while another of my friends was telling a wild story that had everyone enthralled. And I sat in this lonely dining room, sat and waited long after everyone else had left, days and days and days until maybe you'd come back, you'd throw your jacket that She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bought you onto the couch. You'd throw it on the couch, leave the living room and turn the corner to the dining room. You'd see me sitting among everyone's left overs, from days, maybe weeks ago, among dirty dishes and the smell of stale perfume and candles that have turned into burning puddles of wax. You'd see my running eyeliner, my messy, unkempt hair, the ladybug that accompanied me for the past few days in your absence. You'd take me into your arms, and I'd cry, sob, scream, despite having gotten all of that out days ago. You'd rock me back and forth, you'd rub circles into my back with just the tip of your thumb (like you always do), you'd refuse to let go. I wouldn't ask where you've been, you wouldn't ask about my friends or why I haven't moved. Because we both know, we've been to the darkest places these past few days, weeks, months. But none of that requires any discussion, because you came back, and I waited.

After what seems like lifetimes, we'd separate, and tend to the leftover food and dirty dishes that have, between the time that you arrived and now, accumulated grotesque levels of mold.